Chapter Twenty-Five #2
I sent up a small howl of inquiry at Cyrus, but he was busy.
One of the enemy Relics had noticed us as we came through the door and growled at us to stop being stupid and help them with the mages.
The Corpsmen were backed against one wall with Hargroves in the center, and a dozen of our kind lay dead on the ground in a semicircle in front of them.
It was more than I had thought possible from a human assault, especially without wards.
But more of the Relics were still on their feet than the number of mages, whose mangled bodies were strewn everywhere, and they were only now realizing that we weren’t their backup.
Probably from scent, because their leader’s head turned to the side and his nose twitched, before a ferocious scowl took over his face.
“Kill them!” he snarled, and I thought that sounded like an excellent idea. I lunged for his head, maw gaping, but Cyrus got there first.
So I swerved and attacked another who was menacing a war mage, and then had the very confused man sling something at me that felt like nettles stinging all over my skin.
He did not realize we were allies and had attacked me, but it was not a very good attack.
I paused for a second, waiting for the spell to kick in and do something, but it did not.
Except to peter out.
That’s the sort of thing they’re using? I thought, my human mind disapproving, and my alter ego agreed. That was not how you dealt with Relics.
This was how you dealt with Relics.
I tore the creature’s head off, felt its blood spew delightfully down my chest, crushed its skull between my teeth, and spat it out.
And saw the tiny thing causing all this trouble—Hargroves—staring at me. Or more accurately, at something in my fur. I looked down and discovered a small metal thing clinging to a gory clump of hair, and picked it off.
“Badge!” My human mind was screaming. “Badge! Badge! Show him your badge!”
I did not understand this word. Badge. It had no meaning.
But I offered it to him anyway, to shut her up.
He took it, the hand he extended shaking slightly. Then he flung something at me, but not a curse. It ran around me like fire, but did not burn.
It was pretty. I batted at it with one hand for a moment, watching the blue flames scatter and then reform. And then something jumped me.
“Help Mage de Croissets!” Hargroves yelled. “And get behind her!”
“What?” One of the other tiny things said, sounding confused.
“I marked her, idiot!” Hargroves snarled, almost sounding like a Were for a moment, and then he cursed the hell out of the Relic attacking me.
Street fighter, my human said, as the Relic howled. That had not been mere stinging nettles. I nodded at Hargroves and roared to my pack not to eat him.
And then the fight resumed.
And this time, it wasn’t so easy.
Part of that was because we had to send some of the pack away, who had only transformed into wolves.
The one called Jace was one of these, being sleek and fast and purpose-built, but not for this.
I grabbed him out of the claws of a Relic, who had already raked deep furrows down his flesh, and tossed him at a dark mage, a few of whom were hanging about.
The gesture clearly said, “go and play with the humans,” and he did not like it, but he went.
Cyrus was sending the other wolves to help the one called Caleb in the outer room, where more dark mages were slinging spells.
They were putting up a fierce resistance, but they hadn’t expected a sudden wave of fur determined to prove itself.
I grinned; I would have liked to hear the words they were shouting at each other, but I could not.
My ears were good, but not when Relics were howling, people were screaming, and the little Hargroves was enhancing his voice to bellow orders that nobody was listening to because the humans were busy trying not to die, and we were—
Feasting.
It was glorious and terrible, a savage spectacle that I looked upon with amazed, wonder-filled eyes.
So much blood, painting the walls and floor and air in a haze of red; so much meat, chunks of it sliding everywhere, enough to fill our bellies for days; so much joy, tearing into our enemies with my pack at my back.
The humans were in the way more than anything; I barely noticed them, except for one who transformed back when my jaws snapped shut on him, leaving him dangling out of my mouth, still screaming.
He got caught on a tooth, forcing me to claw at him to get him off. I saw one of the friendly mages staring, and bared my bloody teeth at him when I finally pulled them free. He fainted, and I laughed and went back to work.
But there was a price to be paid for our fun this time.
One of us—Noah, my human mind whispered—was little more than a cub and fought like it. He was hurt, clutching a leg and whimpering. I grabbed the Relic attacking him, and it was a huge one, bigger than me, much bigger. To the point that it couldn’t stand up straight in the room.
But it could fight, and it turned on me in a fury. And I met it gladly, because I was Lupa and it had hurt a cub. And that was death.
It knew it, too, almost immediately, knew it had injured one of mine. So it did it again, stepping on the shattered leg and grinding it into the floor, making Noah howl. And I fell for the trick and jumped for the creature’s throat—and almost made it.
But he’d expected it, and I saw the trap too late. Two of his pack jumped me, one from either side, as soon as I elongated my body, exposing my vulnerable areas. I felt them tear into me, heard the cub scream, tasted my own blood in my mouth, meaty and good, and laughed.
Death would come, but I would take them with me. I would save the cub, and there was nothing they could do to stop me. And I would be remembered; they would sing of me in the night when the moon was full, yes, they would sing!
So I stayed on the big one, even as they gutted me.
Saw his surprise, his fear, his realization.
That this was to the death, as if there was ever any other kind of fight, his death, and now he knew it, could smell it on my breath, could see it in my eyes as I took him down, as his pack fell on me but not in time, not before I ripped the bastard’s throat out and—
Those savaging me were suddenly gone, taking chunks of my flesh along with them.
But gone, nonetheless, although I could not have protected myself further.
I was bleeding out, my intestines lying gray and ropy on the floor around me, my lifeblood gushing out alongside them.
I could have done nothing, and yet they were gone.
I did not understand.
Until I looked up blearily from the floor, from beside the broken body of the big one, and saw through fading eyesight...
Cyrus, standing in the middle of the room and roaring, his terrible maw a bloody joy to behold, and one of my attackers lying helpless in his hands before he ripped him apart. The other was under a mound of my pack, being torn to pieces. I smiled.
I would die, but I would not be consumed. I would be spared that indignity. They had saved me that, my clan, my family, my love.
They would live, and they would sing.